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Icarus The Owl
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Touchstone
This impossible fleeting feeling they are struggling to unearth：part of its skull has emerged and the archaeologists are cleaning off the dirt. When I'd drive away I'd call your house and hear your voice before I reached the mountain. Young love is something that we get too old to understand. We are too old to understand. It's larvae, it's chapter one; it's the prequel to everything I wish I hadn't done. I lay here seemingly unimagined by the muses of my nostalgia. I am nowhere Kansas to their New England or just England. I am but a speck on a map, a road to pass through; a necessary stop at a highway toll booth. Holding hands in your mothers car, pretending we were the first on mars but the last to count on anyone. Just outside your house, 100 meters down that trail into the park：where you will find the last good thing left in my heart. If i had just held you a little longer or played the perfect song for you. I miss those vacant parking lots. Wasting gas just to get lost. We were two figures atop a mountain; a spectacle to the surrounding houses. Beyond the tree roots and the topsoil; into the cold gritty ground it lays. All we were to your nosey neighbors were two bodies of younger strangers. This was my youth.
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